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Tag Archives: Italy
In 1998, I went to Italy with my friend Donna and her mom, Sue. We rented a car at the airport in Florence; Sue and Donna took turns at the wheel and I sat in the back seat, timid and … Continue reading
I told you I experienced a few truly wonderful moments in the course of my travels, and in today’s post I will elaborate on two more of them. One took place at a lunchtime gathering at my cousin Luisa’s house in … Continue reading
Shortly after the end of World War II, one of my grandfather’s brothers sent a letter to him describing impoverished conditions in Southern Italy and asking if my grandfather would send a decent pair of shoes for his daughter Rosaria. My grandfather had … Continue reading
I’m still awed and discombobulated by the distances we travel. I can picture my daughter’s street in East Oxford as it must appear in this very moment, and the ferries of Norway skimming the fjords, and a certain hillside lattice … Continue reading
A few things I’ve learned: Life is short, but the day is longer than you think. God exists where our ability to understand things ends. Go ahead, talk to your dead; you can even show them pictures. In Naples, keep … Continue reading
My grandfather was born and lived here until 1905, when he went to America at the age of 17, never to return. Nobody cares except these people. Nobody else vies for the dubious privilege of seeing me on one of … Continue reading
That’s my paternal grandfather, Raffaele Carbone, the one who set sail from Naples at the age of 17 on a ship called Citta di Torino, arriving in New York on July 13, 1905. I’ve written about him in The Secret … Continue reading
For some reason, I’ve been thinking lately about the first time I went to Italy, back in the 1980s. It was the joyful culmination of a search for the relatives of my paternal grandfather, who had been born near the slopes … Continue reading
First I must learn the art of waiting. It is what we seem to do here in this Neapolitan town. We walk, and we wait. We congregate, and we wait. There is always someone missing whose presence is essential, some … Continue reading